The Light of the Unreachable Stars
by Asa Squish
Summary: The Far, Far Range is an amazing escape. Verge Seeley doesn't entirely know what that entails for him, doesn't know how his life will go from here. But he's happy to try and learn.
1. A Place on the Verge of the Universe

His new place is quieter than he is used to.

Verge doesn't mind. Not at all. He's always hated the buzz and the bombast of city life. The people around him chatter so much, the noise an endless echo in his mind, sending it spiraling and spiraling until he can't think of anything else. The quiet is a sanctuary. It's so quiet here.

And when he feels he needs the noise, when he feels he wants more, needs more, must have more, he can always travel beyond the Ranch.

Even from here, he can faintly make out the tiny warbling cries of slimes. Pink slimes, he guesses, from the sheer amount of them. He's heard about them before, from the scant few articles he'd managed to sneak about the Far, Far Range when his parents were out, gone to sun-knows-where. If he left this room, if he went out into the vast and grand wilderness right now, he could probably see them. But for now...

For now, he'll explore the little house in the Ranch.

It's not bright in here at all. Not like the main part. His house isn't on the main part of the Ranch at all. Instead- and he's having a bit of a hard time believing this- the last rancher who'd been here _built one_ all for him. It's not professionally done, as the improvised everything hints strongly at, but it's sturdy and cozy and clearly took a lot of effort to do so well. He still doesn't know where all the nails came from, since they don't exactly grow on trees, and he has some serious worries about where all the metal for the roof was procured, but in all honesty, it's not that bad. It feels like the opposite of a liminal space, really. And after everything that happened at home, he learned a vehement hatred of liminal spaces.

More interestingly, it's in an extension of the Ranch that had been called the Grotto when he checked the online map. The online map hadn't mentioned the little wood-carved sign renaming it the Solar Sanctuary, but he's pretty sure that was the last rancher's personal opinion and so he'll continue calling it the Grotto. It's dark inside the Grotto, enough that the little paper lanterns hanging everywhere are more useful than decorative, and the cave roof is high enough that he can almost imagine flying and not touching it at all. It doesn't feel like a lonely place, despite its placement on a lonely continent on this alien planet- in all, it feels welcoming. There are little carvings on the cave walls and glow-in-the-dark stars carefully placed in high areas and a single, pre-made corral sits right in the middle.

He likes it. Verge thinks of the unevenly shaped tables and the beanbag chairs and how everything looks so pretty in the dim light and he likes it.

The tiny alarm he'd set on his laptop breaks him from his reverie, playing a cheerful flute and guitar tune that he doesn't at all remember the name of. Seven-thirty. He should be starting the day already.

Verge gets up, checking to see if his vac pack- _succ gun_ , he thinks childishly- has its fruit and if his clothes are passably clean. There's a bunch of fruit in the main ranch's two farms, which he could probably feed the pink slimes if he finds enough of them, but for slimes with a meat diet like the tabby slimes he's read about in passing he's not sure what he can get them. Maybe there's some kind of wild prey animal here? He really does wish he'd read a little more about these things. But he hadn't; instead he'd hopped onto the first spaceship for volunteers he could and never looked back.

There are so few volunteers. He wonders why.

Maybe it's all the tests you had to pass to be considered a possible rancher. It's a legal mess of red tape. Thank god for perseverance.

He slings his vac across his back and heads out into the great unknown.

* * *

Let it be known that Verge Seeley is not a sensitive person. He knows how to hide reactions. He knows how to be carefully blank, how to show no emotion even as he feels happy or feels sad or wants to laugh. Emotion is punished in a busy society. Hiding emotion is not hard.

Still, when he sees the slimes, he can't suppress a tiny squeak of glee.

The area is teeming with the most adorable creatures he's ever seen. Ever. He's seen babies, he's seen kittens, he's seen baby kittens, but somehow _this_ \- this is what makes him break. He thought the articles had been exaggerating when they said that the colour of pink slimes was scientifically proven to be the colour of cheer or something. They were not.

He wants to hug every single one of them. Individually. And maybe bite one, just to see what texture it would make on his tongue, but they look so fragile and bouncy that he's pretty sure it'd hurt them. Their little happy noises are music to his ears, and each one he can see is a series of bright, beautiful hues that match so well together he swears he's stepped into some sort of dream world. The daytime makes light dance on each one's surface, and the sight of it must be making his brain go haywire, because there is not other explanation he will accept for the ecstasy welling up inside him.

"Oh my stars," he says to himself, his hands quivering slightly at the sight. "I am in heaven. I've died and gone to heaven."

This must be heaven. There are no artemicite gates, the wings of the elohim have not been nailed to the crystal walls or whatever that creepy kid in his high school bio class had said heaven was, but that creepy kid was wrong. Heaven is not a silver city above the clouds. Heaven is the Dry Reef, full to bursting with angels in the form of squishy little beings he would die for, and he wonders how he was ever good enough to deserve it.

No. Stop. Something in his brain recoils at the feeling, at the oxytocin or seratonin setting his nerves alight, and he forces himself to look away. He has to get back under control. He breathes carefully, counting _one two three four_ until he's calm, and looks up again.

The slimes are still happy, still bouncing around everywhere with the sweetest little sounds he's ever heard anything make, but he feels a little queasy looking at them. He's off balance. And he hates it, hates having to ruin everything for himself again, but he has to get back on balance. He can't let himself stay happy. He didn't come here to be happy.

 _Then why did you go? Why did you leave everything you knew and fly all the way out here?_

 _Because it was the furthest I could go_ , he answers that part of his brain, the part that is still trying to be happy. That's enough. It's always been enough. Even if going to this place in particular was because he wanted to see it, that was something minor. What he wanted was less important than what he needed, and what he needed was to get out of there. This place was just a means to that end.

One of the pink slimes bounces over, warbling cheerily as it bumps into his legs, and Verge shudders. It feels just like a stim toy. A giant, bouncy stim toy.

He isn't allowed those.

He steels his nerves and shoots a single, solitary fruit at the slime. It doesn't even hesitate as it jumps up, catching the food in its mouth midair. Before he can think about it, before the doubt starts to twist his thoughts, he pulls the vac into place and sucks it up. There's a gleeful noise that sounds like "wheeee!" as it's pulled in.

It's too cute. He doesn't yet know what it feels like inside the vac, but he hopes it feels comfortable. The little pink ball of love deserves the happiness.

"I'm sorry," he apologises uselessly, shoving down the familiar feeling of guilt that's starting to make itself known. He has to do this, doesn't he? He has to collect plorts and study these slimes and herd them into corrals. It's the payment for staying here. "But I'll let you out soon, okay? There's an empty corral in the main ranch. It's got a lot of sun, high walls and a roof so you can bounce all you like- maybe I'll bring some friends over for you, okay? I'm sorry. I'm very, very sorry."

The other slimes don't notice. They're crowding, all pep and cheer and hunger. One gnaws curiously at his leg, and he swears he doesn't jump a foot in the air at the sudden touch, really. He lands wrong anyway, the new gravity playing hell on his senses, and landing on his ass ends up knocking him over, right into a small cluster of the pink slimes. And a single, grey tabby slime, which meows loudly when he disturbs it and hops away.

He shouldn't be here. He doesn't deserve to be here.

He gets up, and with shaking hands, he points the vac at the tabby. It's rarer, right? He can sell the plorts for more. He should get it. He should.

But then the tabby pounces, chomping down on a chicken he didn't notice, and the meow is so content and pleased that he can't bring himself to take it. He lets the gun go.

He wants to do more. He really does. But he can't do it now. Verge bolts, making a beeline for the Ranch. He'll get the slime all set up, give it some fruit, and be right back here to finish his job.

He means it.

The main ranch, at least, is a welcome distraction. It's dusty and bright, the colours of the house in the middle faded from the year of disuse and the corral lonely and empty. But it's free of his wishes, of a happiness he can't afford, and that more than anything is something he can hold on to. Carefully, he enters the lone corral, aiming the gun and clicking the fire option.

Out comes that little pink slime, the only one he's actually dared to take. He wants more of them. But one is enough, right? It's enough. It has to be.

Verge shoots another fruit from the vac and the slime warbles happily, consuming the whole thing in a single bite. It looks back up at him, black eyes glimmering in the warm sun, and-

And shudders, a single little cube plopping out of its behind.

A plort? It must be. Verge hadn't been paying attention at the Dry Reef, hadn't seen any of these little things there, but he kneels down anyway, examining the tiny cube. It's the first plort he's really seen, really registered with his own eyes.

He sucks these into the vac, right? Trades them for money? Right. He swings the vac around and sucks it right in. The pink slime lets loose another one, and that one joins its predecessor in the gun. This... this is what he's meant to do here. This is his payment for staying.

He stands slowly, staring down at the little slime for barely a second before he makes himself leave. He'll have to put these into the plort exchange thing. That's fine.

It's his first day in this new world, his first time working in the Far, Far Range. And to be honest? Verge is doing terribly.

* * *

 ** _Hello, all! Welcome to the show! I've recently become pretty entranced with the world of Slime Rancher, and the lack of fanfiction for the game is... disappointing. Who wouldn't write stories for those balls of compressed happiness?!_**

 ** _So, then, I have taken the liberty of writing something for the fandom. Hope it's an alright work so far! I have a bit more focusing on the theme planned out for the rest of it, and a few new characters I'm trying to work in. So, if you're interested, keep an eye out for that! Readers are also free- in fact, encouraged- to send chapter ideas!_**

 ** _Thank you for reading!_**


	2. Light Eater

_**Chapter warning! This chapter involves our favourite awful ravenous rainbows, and there's some detail involving their, ah, eating habits, but otherwise I think it's safe! Either way, be careful!**_

* * *

He'll do better. He has to.

Verge wraps the blanket a little tighter around himself, burying his head in the threadbare covers. He can't bring himself to go back out there. He can't go and face that happiness, that loud cheer that he can still barely make out even in this bed, not when his purpose there is to take slimes from their homes.

Faintly, just a little bit louder than the rest, he thinks he hears the one in the corral laugh. The sound makes him curl up a little further.

"I can't do this," he says. The testing scores must have been flukes. They must have mixed up his results with someone else's. Back on Earth, there's someone who deserves to be here, trapped because of some technical error while he takes their place on a faraway world he can't even look at.

The last rancher had said that ne believed in him. Ne must have been wrong.

... He can't prove nem wrong. This job is something ne thought he deserved, wasn't it? Ne trusted him with this, with a home away from the world and with a world to explore until it was home. He couldn't just throw it all away. _Waste nothing_ , he'd learned, had the message burned into him with every passing day, and this wasn't something he could ever waste.

Verge reaches out blindly for the laptop on the bedside table, sitting up and blearily letting the blanket fall off him. He pulls up a series of starmails, the existence of which he still doubts sometimes. It helps keep him going a little bit further, the memory that someone needs him to do this. And right now, he has to go further. He has to do more.

 _You can do it! I'll help as much as I can!_

The message is in stark black against the white of the screen as he rereads. It goes on a little more in this vein of thought- _I'll set something up for you, 'kay? A few of the other ranchers owe me some favours, see, and with your test scores in mind, there'll be no way for them to refuse! You deserve the special treatment, anyway_ \- and he flips through a few more of the bubbly messages until he gets to the final one.

Sachie Lucillen was the last rancher here, the one who left him somewhere stable to start with. Ne had gone missing the day he'd gone into cryofreeze. The last starmail from nem had been sent the day before that.

 _It's almost time for your adventure, huh? It must be scary! I remember being so hyper the day before my flight! To be honest, I hate flying in general, but into space?! It's space! A thousand light years away! I'd deal with the motion sickness happily!_

 _It's not as scary as it seems at first, though. Don't be so worried about everything there. The world can take care of itself pretty fine if you don't mess it up too bad! Just make sure you stay safe and the slimes stay safe and everything'll be right as weather! I built a place for you in a part of the ranch that's nice and dark, like you said you liked. The lanterns are so pretty! I'd send you a picture, but it'd be better as a surprise!_

 _And... you're probably not gonna see me there for a few. I know- it's bullshit, right? But hear me out. I found this awesome place somewhere on the continent- not telling you where! It'll be much more rewarding if you find it yourself, trust me- and I want to explore it for a bit! It was hard to see, but I think there were some pretty rare slimes there! You know, the kind that can only be found in LeBeau's ranch. She's been refusing to let anyone study them for so long! Well, joke's on you, Beatrix! I can do my job better than you ever could!_

 _Anyway, I wish you a good year in cryosleep! When I came out of it, I puked, but that's just what motion sickness does to a guy! Ask the ship help to prepare a bucket near the chamber if you've got the same problem. And when you get there, try and find my notes! I left a bunch of them near the obstacles I reset. It's a lot more fun learning about the world for yourself, isn't it?_

 _Either way, you'll do great. A place further than the universe awaits! I hope you'll like it as much as I did when I first started._

 _Good luck, Verge!_

He closes the starmail window, leaving only a blank desktop. Verge can distantly feel breath returning to his lungs.

Good luck.

He didn't think about the assignment, at first- of course he didn't think, he never thought, always so reckless and self-centred, like everyone else said- just tried out the online entrance exam. He hadn't expected the e-mail after, congratulating him on passing it. Hadn't expected a veteran rancher to come into his life, to be so excited about his essay answers and to start up a conversation. It had been an outlet. An escape.

He's escaped somewhere very, very far, hasn't he?

He has to make use of it.

Verge stands, shoving down the worry and the apprehension rising inside him. He can do this. He was sent here to do better than this. He's going to.

There's no time to doubt himself as he steps out of his comfort zone, as he leaves the little house that had been made just for him. He has a job to do. And no matter how he feels, he... can...

"Oh my stars."

* * *

The world is lit up, bright and beautiful, by slimes he's never seen before. They're a soft, pastel shade of purple, with a warm yellow light inside them that casts shadows that look almost painted on the Dry Reef's cliffs. There's a whole swarm of them, each one peaceful and untroubled and so, so enchanting. He can't bring himself to look away.

Blankly, Verge steps forward, reaching out and just barely brushing one of the new, floating slimes. Phosphor, he thinks, a phosphor slime. The pictures didn't do it justice.

The one he poked turns to him, meeting his eyes with a pair of black ones that make his heart want to melt into a puddle of goo.

Even their plorts are glowing a little. It's insane. He wants to watch this forever.

Almost instinctually, there's a lurch in his stomach, the kind that tells him _stay back, stay away, you can't let anyone know you saw this,_ until its mantra is burned into his brain. Verge steps back, his hands quivering, and the slime warbles questioningly and floats a little closer. _No, you can't, you can't do this, they'll find it and take it and you don't deserve this, you will never, never deserve this-_

Something growls behind him, a low sound that reverberates through his very being like a cold chill. Verge freezes, his grip on the vac growing tighter. Fuck. _Fuck_. He knows what this is.

The rancher turns, stepping backwards, and comes face to face with a tarr.

Lucillen had told horror stories about the tarr. Amalgamations, the result of slimes consuming too many plorts that didn't belong to them, they roamed the Far, Far Range and wreaked destruction on any slime they met. Ne had hated them, he thinks, backing away as the awful grey thing shifts to reveal cracks spilling rainbow colours. They attacked anything that moved, from animals to slimes to...

Humans.

 _Keep calm_ , he thinks to himself, though the shivers going up his spine don't help with that objective at all. Run. He could run. Running was always logical. Is this punishment, he wonders, for wanting to bite one of the pink slimes just to feel it? To have a ravenous, possibly cannibalistic monster right in front of him?

It turns away, chomping down on a tabby slime that had been too close, and stars, stars, he can see its cute little expression morph into one terrified and hear a pleading little meow from it as it's eaten. Verge covers his mouth, feeling bile rise in his throat at the sight of it. Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, _wrong_ -

Another growl from behind. Verge turns just in time to see what looked like a very large pink slime with cat ears- a largo? Is that right?- finish turning into one of those things. There's a small cluster of phosphor plorts near its mouth. He sucks them all into his vac, but the damage is done. The resulting tarr leaps at him, and he barely manages to jump out of the way.

Leaving the phosphor slime he'd touched right in the tarr's path.

He's scarcely realized his mistake when the phosphor slime squeals, a wing caught in the tarr's mouth. His legs move on their own.

Before he knows it, Verge is pulling the slime from the tarr's grasp, aiming his vac at it and sucking it in. The monster is too big to fit, of course, but that's not what he's here for. Instead, he takes careful aim and fires it straight into the Slime Sea.

The faint splash as it sinks is music to his ears.

"You're okay," he says uselessly, turning to the phosphor slime that had just barely avoided a gory demise. It still looks terrified, an expression that tugs at his heartstrings. He hates that he couldn't have prevented this. Hates it, hates it, hates it.

Verge sucks the other tarr in and makes absolutely sure it follows the last one's path.

The action draws the attention of several other tarrs, and a few start sluggishly making their way towards him. Their growls and low groans will be giving him nightmares for a while, he thinks, fear creeping back into his consciousness like a bug. Verge grits his teeth and keeps going, launching every tarr he can reach into the deep sea's waters. He has to pull a few slimes from their mouths, has to keep moving and moving and moving, but it's the only option he has. He's been doing a terrible job so far. He has to make up for it.

 _The only monsters where a splash attack does damage,_ Lucillen had joked a year ago. He thanks his lucky stars he can still remember nir advice.

* * *

Just in case, just in case, he sucks all the plorts he can find into his vac, expelling any food still there into the hungry mouths of the nearby pink slimes. They're resilient, he thinks almost fondly, watching as they recover quickly with the promise of fruit-based sustenance. He can't do much for the tabbies, sadly, but they seem content enough with chowing down on the chickens roaming the area. And in the distance there are a few blue slimes- rock slimes, he remembers- that only eat vegetables. He picks up a few carrots and hands them over, collecting the plorts they drop.

Will he have to do this the whole night? Will he have to stay here, keeping everyone as safe as he can?

If that's what it takes. He expels a rock slime that had gotten sucked into the vac and returns to his work. He was sent here to protect and learn about these things. What good is he if he can't even do that?

Hours are passing. Hours pass. His eyes are starting to sting and he has to stifle multiple yawns, but he keeps going. He has to.

As he walks, collecting whatever he can, there's a tiny, curious noise near him, one that sounds almost familiar. He turns and finds himself face to face with a phosphor slime, its general head area tilted slightly as it stares at him. It's oddly familiar. Really. He's not sure why, there really aren't too many identifying features on these slimes, but he thinks it's one he's seen before.

When he catches sight of the left wing, bent slightly out of shape and flapping more weakly than the right, he understands.

"I know I should have been faster," he apologises, breaking the stare it held. "I just- I froze, and I shouldn't have, and I'm so, so sorry- but that doesn't help you, does it? You're still hurt, and still some of the other slimes were eaten by those things, and- and-!"

The phosphor slime coos, bumping into his face meaningfully. It's... probably a boop? Some kind of comforting touch? He's not sure why it would do that, but- well, that's the only thing he thinks it can be.

"I'm sorry," he says again, offering it a weak smile. "I'll try harder next time. I swear."

There's a faint warmth behind him, something shifting in the colours of the sky, and- oh. The sun is rising.

The sun is rising!

"Stars." Verge reaches out, pulling the phosphor slime down a little. "You should get somewhere dark. You disappear if you don't, right? Stars, this doesn't seem right-"

His vac. He can try the vac.

"I'll do my best to make sure you aren't hurt." He swings the vac off his back and points it hesitantly. "As many of you as possible. If that's fine?"

Curiously, the slime nudges the vac. Before he can hesitate, Verge sucks it in, listening for the shocked little "whooooa!" as it enters the storage. Steeling his nerves, he makes a run for a small group of phosphors nearby, sucking them in too.

He's going to do right by them this time. He's going to prove he can.

* * *

 _ **Well! That's another chapter done! This one was really fun to write, let me tell you. Phosphor slimes and honey slimes are both my favourites in-game, even including the fan-preferred puddle slimes, and you can bet I'll be adding honeys as soon as I can reasonably do it! Maybe even a largo of them; who knows?**_

 _ **Reviews are very much appreciated! For now, though, thanks for reading!**_


	3. The Not-So-Appreciated Neverland

The morning light is bright outside the cave that is the Grotto. It's barely seven, and Verge's eyes are still stinging from his all-nighter directly after a solid year of sleep, but he goes out to collect some fruit for the phosphors anyway.

The blanket he'd taken from inside his house is wrapped tightly around his shoulders, a needless and meager warmth that he still hoards to himself. It's a faded purple thing, one of the few little holdovers of home he'd brought with him. It's as welcome a comfort as it was when he was still eight and the world outside was far too much. There's a tabby dangling from one of the decorative black tassels, gnawing away at the bunched-together yarns without a care in the world, and he can't bring himself to push it away.

Vac in hand, he scouts the area.

There isn't much that the pink slimes haven't already gotten to, and whatever he manages to find is sucked into the vac without much hesitation. He decides to collect a few chickens, too, just in case. Hen hens, right? Weird name, but he's not going to complain about it. The hens sound about as cute as everything else in this alien world. Maybe he could make a coop for them? There was something about possible things to build in a Ranch that involved chicken coops. Though he isn't exactly sure how reproduction would work without roosters. Or, ah, roostros. _I'm never going to get used to the weird naming conventions._

Verge sidesteps a rock slime's sharp points as it hops around near him and collects the little blue plort it's left in its path. He should... probably get some of those. Put them in a corral. And tabbies, too, those- those plorts have some more money to their name than pinks. He should make a new corral, just for them.

... No. He doesn't think he can.

Shoving down the matter at hand, he continues along his aimless path.

None of the slimes seem too hurt by the tarr outbreak last night, which is definitely a relief. Verge isn't sure he'd be able to handle it if they were. His thoughts return guiltily to the phosphor slime from last night, the one with the crooked wing that had gotten a little too close. Maybe it's too early in the morning to be thinking such dark thoughts, but his internal clock's always been a little off. It must be the sleep deprivation.

It's probably also the fault of the sleep deprivation that he only notices the capsule now.

Because there is a large metal capsule right beside him, its existence only made known by the loud clang of his vac swinging against it. Verge curses, quickly kneeling and checking both of the gadgets for dents. He didn't see it here last night- the byproduct of insomnia, the late hour, and the preoccupation with keeping the slimes alive, he'll bet. There's a little golden button on it, with a circle flashing a cheerful yellow light at him now that something's made contact with it.

He's not entirely sure what it is until he reads the hand-carved sign above it. _Electronic Notes_ , it says in the same meticulous, round writing as _Solar Sanctuary_ above the Grotto entrance. _Version 2.1!_

"An electronic note, huh?" He kneels down beside it, looking it over as best he can without touching. It's... weirdly compact, compared to the electronic notes he'd found online. Did Lucillen make it nemself? The paint has clearly been applied by an amateur, a mishmash of different colours on the warm side of the spectrum with a faded white being the main hue. It's cute, he decides. It looks like something he'd find in a steampunk gallery. Just without the decorative fake gears taped on.

He's really starting to wonder what the hell Lucillen saw in him. Ne probably had a doctorate in engineering or something. And, considering the house, carpentry. So what had ne been doing here, in space where a career as a zoologist would have been more helpful? Earth would have accepted someone like nem with open arms.

Then again, he can't really talk. He does have a master's in fine arts. And here he is, on the edge of the Far, Far Range. Again, he's becoming very convinced there was a fluke in the exam scoring.

He wonders what's in the note.

It's not entirely curiosity, he knows, not even close to that. It's not. It's just... he hasn't read one of Lucillen's starmails in a while. A whole year, really, even if he was asleep for most of it. It had become almost a routine back on Earth, reading through whatever ne had sent on a bad day.

... It's also partially curiosity. Why would ne make nir own electronic note design? And why would ne leave it here?

He presses the button and watches as a hologram springs to life.

 _Good morning, Verge!_ reads the brightly lit note, in the same round font that Lucillen seems to write in. _Or whatever time it is while you're there! Hope you're having a good day!_

 _How are you doing? Have you started up a proper corral yet? Caught your first slime? They really are absolute joys to behold, aren't they? Just bouncing around all day, eating and plorting and radiating carelessness- they just radiate content! Sun above, I wish I could be that content. They look so happy, even when they're so limited._

 _... There are no limits here, Verge. This is a place on the verge of the universe! Pun most definitely intended. So... a reminder. When I first started, I was always wondering where to stop. I was always waiting for someone to say I was going too far. You know the feeling, don't you? You write like you do. You talk about limitations, about everything you can and cannot do._ _You know what, Verge? You can do anything. Do what you want. If you want to cuddle the slimes, do it! If you want to spend a day collecting fruit or taking care of hen hens or, hell, feeding a gordo until it explodes into a bunch of littler slimes, do it! There are no limits here, Verge. You can do anything._

 _It took me a while to remember that._

And the note ends.

It's... a very odd note, Verge decides. But... he thinks he needed that. There are no limits here. He doesn't have to be afraid.

He doesn't believe it. Not really. But he can try, can't he?

Verge presses the button again. The hologram fizzles out, leaving nothing but a deceptively innocent-looking capsule. The tabby slime on his blanket mewls confusedly, dropping from its tassel and gnawing on whatever bits of the metal it can latch onto.

"That's not for eating," he chastises it, pulling the tabby off of the capsule. It doesn't seem to appreciate the gesture, returning the favour by biting as hard as it can on his hand. The bite doesn't hurt, but he sets it down anyway.

That message shouldn't mean anything. It shouldn't.

And yet still, still, he can't help but want that. The freedom to do what he wants seems like a faraway dream. But wasn't the Far, Far Range that, too? He's achieved that, despite everything. He kept it hidden from his parents, passed every test somehow, escaped to a place where he can be just that little bit safer. Maybe it's not so unbelievable that he can do this. Maybe he can escape from what they wanted him to be there, too.

It's an idea he never wants to let go of.

Still, he can't just do anything. There's a script he has to stick to, a job he has to do. He has to take care of slimes and collect plorts and be better, be as good as they thought he could be.

He doesn't believe Lucillen. Not really. There are limits to what he can do. But within those limits... he can do _something_ , can't he?

He can try.

* * *

The tabby is tagging along even as he walks home, hopping behind him faithfully. Verge isn't entirely sure why. It might be the hen hen he's holding in his hands- his vac is regretfully full- but it doesn't eat it even when he reluctantly offers it over. He's a little worried that it might want his blanket, but it's not trying to jump for that. So what does it want?

"Please stop following me," he says uselessly. The only response he gets is something that half-sounds like a meow.

He's near the Ranch now, at least. He can see the lonely little pink slime in its corral, still looking alright despite a day of captivity. He focuses instead on the Grotto, the place where the rocks shift to a more purplish hue and the entrance to what will hopefully feel like home soon. The pink slime perks up when it sees him, bouncing against the walls of its corral excitedly when he approaches. He feels himself speed up despite himself.

The tabby speeds up, too. At first, Verge thinks it's trying to match his pace. But then it gets faster, more determined, and he realizes it's the little slime he's kept that is the tabby's goal.

Shit. Was that its friend? Had he separated them?

The thought strikes hard, leaving him frozen in place for a single, pitiful second.

Even if he reacted, it would have been too slow. The tabby slime tackles its companion hard in a single bound, slamming it into the ground with an overenthusiastic "whee!" And it is inside the corral.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit-

The pink slime returns the affection with the same energy, nuzzling the tabby slime with a happy little gurgle. And then it pulls away, hopping excitedly around the array of little plorts it had made while he was gone.

Curiously, the tabby looks one over, analyzing it with a blink of its black eyes. And then it swallows the thing whole.

There aren't enough curse words under the sun to express just what the hell Verge feels right now.

Panic is a good enough descriptor, though. "Wait!" he yells, too late, far too late, because the tabby's body is already warping and enlarging until it's...

Huge. Absolutely huge. With a pink hue and twitching pink cat ears, a largo stares up at him from where there once was only a normal slime. Verge feels a little faint. This is not happening. It cannot be happening.

It's happening.

The pink slime makes a sound that sounds like "whoa!" to his ears, bouncing onto the pink tabby largo and trying to take it all in. There's a part of its wonder that resonates with Verge, but it's drowned out mainly by the part of his brain that's flashing warning signals. He's fairly sure this shouldn't be happening. Or, scratch that, he's _incredibly_ sure this shouldn't be happening. But it is, and he can't fix _that_ , now, can he?

Slowly, numbly, he approaches the largo. The walls of the corral buzz around him as he steps through them. And without thinking, he reaches out for it.

He's not actually sure what he wanted with it. But for it to try and swallow his entire hand was definitely not what he wanted.

"Sorry! Sorry." Verge jerks his hand away, stepping backwards and out of its way. "Are you hungry? You're probably hungry. I still have that hen hen! Here, let me-" He lets go of the chicken, leaving it to its fate.

The tabby largo gulps it down with no hesitation this time, which probably meant terrible things for the state of his hand if he'd been a moment too slow. It lets out a happy warbling noise and lets out two plorts, one the grey of a tabby's and one a familiar coral pink.

Presumably wanting to join its friend in scaring the living daylight from him, the pink slime chomps down the tabby plort, and then there are two.

This is not shaping up to be a good day, Verge thinks. Not at all.

Sighing, he vacuums up the pink plorts still on the ground, shoots out a few hen hens for his new companions, and leaves. He needs some time to himself right now. And, most likely, a long few hours of sleep.

* * *

 **Or: in which Verge Seeley is Even More Stressed™. I love the dear boy, really. Even if the amount of shit I put him through doesn't really show it.**


	4. And Yet the World Moves

_is it a normal thing when your slimes fuse?_

A stupid question. A very, very stupid question. Still, Verge steels his nerves and sends. The question goes to every fellow rancher he can find in his starmails, looking hopelessly amateur in the default font and the lack of proper punctuation. That's fine. He knows how long he can hide under the veneer of being the new member before they start regarding his questions with disdain. He's calculated it to the exact minute it runs out before. This can't be much different.

He has about a month. He also has a feeling he'll make most of his mistakes in that amount of time, so he figures it should work out. If he slips up after that time frame's over... he'll just have to deal with it himself. Like he'll have to deal with everything else.

When did this become his life?

It would usually be exaggeration to say that he sighs and collapses onto the bed. But he does. Verge buries his face in the pillow and tries to ignore the faint glare of the laptop's light nearby. It hurts his eyes in this comforting darkness. He doesn't want to look at it more than he needs to.

His doubts are rising again. It really is tempting to just let them take over. _But I've just started here, I can't give up yet_ \- all the words are familiar enough to be a litany in the back of his head. One more step. It's everything he can do.

He doesn't want to ask for help. Really. If he could, he would just deal with this himself, exist alone in this world where there is nothing that hates him. But he's destroying this world's balance already, making something new and uncomfortable and artificial, and stars above, he can't handle that alone.

It's his first or second day and he's already had a breakdown. The thought is enough to have a slightly hysterical laugh bubbling up in his throat. Hell, he's _having_ a breakdown right now, isn't he? Two in one day.

He should never have gone here. He should have stayed back on Earth with everything he knew.

... No. No, he can't do that. This is as far as he can go. If he had stayed, he would have kept wanting to go farther. He'll take this opportunity and live in it as best he can. That's what Lucillen said to do. And... and he wants to do that too.

That's fine. This is fine. He can do this. He can get through this. This is something he has to do. He'll neglect his duties and the slimes if he doesn't get over himself already. So he's going to do that. He will.

The laptop lets out a ding, and he yelps, which does not bode well for any future prospects of getting over his issues.

 _You've made largos?!_ comes the sudden reply, from a rancher he's only heard of in the occasional mention from Lucillen nemself. A long string of starmails follows. _Finally! Someone else! You're from the sun kid's ranch, aren't you? The new one! The name's Beatrix! I didn't know LL taught you to make largos!_

Despite himself, Verge feels a weight come off his shoulders.

Beatrix isn't the only one responding anymore- a few more ranchers are popping up, telling him it's not done or it's rare and not really recommended or telling him it's dangerous- but there's someone. _Someone else_ , Beatrix said, someone else who does the same. And she's continuing correspondence anyway, going on about how she can teach him about all the possible combinations and the best way to handle them and _this is going to be fun, lots of fun_ , and he...

He didn't mess up.

There's a large part of his brain that's telling him to listen to everyone else, to the litany of _not recommended, not professional, not good_ , but that tiny bit that's still hoping he hasn't fucked up everything just won't shut up. So he opens up Beatrix's starmails and answers.

 _it's really okay?_

 _Of course! It's perfectly fine to make largos. Although I'm gonna have to warn you, if you make any with boom slimes, you better find something to ice burns down real fast._

 _... what's a boom slime?_

 _Oh, right, you're new! Do you want me to show you? I could take one over to your ranch if you give me the warp coordinates!_

... He's not sure that's a good idea. There's a high chance that boom slimes go boom, after all, and he's not sire what it'll do to his ranch in the aftermath.

 _no thank you_ , he starts, and then he backspaces until the whole thing is gone and starts again, because that's a little too direct. _i'm really sorry, but i'm a little sick right now, and i don't want you to be infected, since it's a little contagious. maybe another time?_

 _Okay, that's fair. If you ever need help, though, don't hesitate to ask! I'm always open!_

Verge shuts his laptop screen and lets out a faint sigh of relief. He's fine. All this was fine.

The relieved tears pricking at his eyes are fine, too.

It's barely a few minutes before he gets up again. The world's a little less weighty now, that tiny little bit of pressure gone. It's a very, very welcome comfort. Others have done this. He's not doing anything wrong.

Verge can't help but sob. He hasn't done anything right in so long. He lives with his parents, he doesn't have a job, he cleans house and buys groceries and does all the chores, but it's always just been wrong. There's always some dust he's missed, or some vegetable that's not fresh enough, or some dish that's still just a bit too oily. There's always a failed job interview lined up. There's always a disappointed glare or a sharp word.

When did he last do something right?

College, he thinks mutely, college was the last time. He had high grades, his art was wonderful, he had so much freedom and so much opportunity. He had deadlines instead of constant responsibilities. He had time allotted for art rather than time stolen. He'd done so much right then.

And now?

Now, Verge muses, he's nothing but a failure trying to do better. Maybe here is a place he can.

Verge laughs. It's relieved and stupid and the same raspy, tired sound he's always been humiliated by, but there's no-one here to hate it but him and he's too tired to hate it now. Worry is exhausting. Panic is exhausting. Anxiety is exhausting. And he is so, so exhausted.

Still, there's still a reserve of energy left. So he gets up. Maybe his slimes are hungry. Maybe they're asking for some food right now. He remembers being hungry a lot. He'll be damned if he lets them go hungry in that cage.

Verge steps out of the door and into daylight seeping into the Grotto. It's pleasantly warm.


End file.
